-V 3. 



TIfOKNS 



ANB 



FLOWERS 



L 



BY 



CiilC. JCiKWa-H- 



•• • •*..•. 



'• •. •. 



LJbSs^V nl 0ON6RESS 

AUG 8C 1904 
Oopyrlffht Entry 

C\a^c^ 1 1 - / ^ p ^ 
CLASS <^ XXo. No. 

' COPY B 






^ 




C. C. CANAN 



THORNS AND FLOWERS 



AFFECTIONATEUY DEDICATED TO MY BEST 
AND DEAREST FRIEND 



MY MOTHER 



PREFACE 



The author of this little volume has not enjoyed 
good health for several years, and much of the work 
herein was written for the pleasure afforded. A few 
stanzas were prepared for special use in fine penman- 
ship, a line of work to which the author has given 
much attention. This collection of verse has been 
thought worthy of publication and is now presented 
in this modest form. 
Bradford, Pa., August, 1904. 



COPYRIGHT, I804, 



THORNS AND FLOWERS, 

Thorns, 

Oh, not thorns, 

3'ust rambling, wayside flowers, 

Gathered in verdant bowers, 

With much pleasure, 

Far from strife. 

And may their fragrance brighten, 

Their goodness, sweetness lighten, 

In a measure. 

All of Life. 



THE SPRINGTIME, 

Lightly the bluebird 
Sits upon a tree, 

He's a jolly fellow, 
Glad as he can be. 

Dashing and sparkling, 
Waters gaily run, 

Bluebells and buttercups 
Laughing at the fun. 

Good time is Springtime, 
Sun and then the rain, 

Making all creation 

Smile and sing again. 

Don't like the plowing. 
Soil is hard to till, 

Rather be a fishing 

At the broken mill. 



GOOD CHEEB. 

The dark blue sea, the bounding sea, 
Has always seemed a friend to me. 
Along the leas with heightened breeze, 
Our merry ship now goes with ease. 
The taff-rail is a leaning, oh, 
The taff-rail is a leaning. 

And now we see ourselves to be 

The sailors of life's stormy sea. 

And here's to him, the jolly tar, 

"Who flings from him the sorrows far. 

Although the world be weeping, oh. 

Although the world be weeping. 



THE FAVORITE FISHING PLACE. 

Below the bridge, and near the mill, 
And just above the little hill. 
There is an old tree standing, where 
The stream cuts deep, old rocks are there, 
And after school we sometimes go 
To fish the pool, and well we know 
Each bank and rock along the bend. 
The old oak tree, a well-known friend. 
Whose welcome shade is thrown around 
Our fav'rite seat upon the ground. 
And when the sun sinks in the West, 
We seem to find the fish are best. 
At dusk we slowly turn away 
And know we've not misspent the day. 



8T0BM AT SEA. 

The sea is dark beneath the storm, 

The light-house shows through mist and rain. 
A driving ship is in distress, 

Her signals gleam far o'er the main, 

The lightning flashes in the West, 

The beach is now alive with men. 

Dark waves dash high upon the shore. 
The fisher-wife is sad again. 

Late in the dark and stormy night 

The watch is kept on distant ship. 

Then lights are gone from on the sea 
And prayers issue from the lips. 

A morning sun is shining clear, 

Fairhaven on the Beach is sad. 
The wife and sweetheart now will mourn 

For husband dear and fisher-lad. 

The hungry sea must have its toll, 

And men will work and women weep. 

Bread must be had for children dear, 

And storms will range upon the deep. 



OCTOBER. 


The golden glow of Autumn rests 


Upon the near-by hill, 


The crimson leaves are falling fast, 


The wind blows cool and chill. 


For Autumn days are here again, 


And Autumn days are best. 


With gold and purple sunsets 


That fall into the West. 


The cornstalks now are in the stack, 


The pumpkins are between. 


A frost is with the closing night, 


A full moon may be seen. 


The apples now are gathered in. 


The wheat is placed away. 


The farmers gather at the store 


To chat at close of day. 


The plenty of October comes 


With Autumn's best of cheer, 


And choicest views of nature mark 


The best time of the year. 

7 



THE DARK DAYS. 

When friends depart, 

And all the kindness of the heart 

is gone, 
^Tis then the gray. 
Sad twilight of a dreary day 

has come. 

THE EVENING STAB. 

Thou herald of approaching night, 
Star of the evening's dying light. 

Dim in the West. 
Thy purest falling ray doth go 
To change the hour of toil below 
To grateful rest. 

THE HUMBLE HOME. 

How dear our humble home in lonely glen, 
How soft our own sweet bed, how still 

the night, 

How humbly poor the food of which we eat, 

How good within our sight. 



THE OLD SWniMING POOL. 

Near the willow trees by the ruined mill, 
At the well-worn path on Blackberry Hill, 
By the old stone bridge where the cattails grow, 
Is the swimming pool of the long ago. 
And I see today, in the same old way 
From the old red school, boys go there to play. 
On the well-known hill through the bushes green. 
Are the moving forms that are clearly seen. 
Down the same old path from the same old school. 
They find their way to the old swimming pool. 
And I see in the stream the well-known group. 
Near the step-off place where the willows droop. 
And they shout and splash in a burst of fun. 
In the same old way that was often done, 
And my mind grows dim in the distant haze, 
Of the old swimming pool and boyhood days. 



WESTERN MONTANA. 

A rough and rugged land I see, 

The wild wind sweeps the mountains drear. 
And yet thy faults seem naught to me, 

For home is here. 



A CHILD'S LOVE OF NATURE. 

The stream is playing run-and-jump, 
The butterfli^ play chase, 
. The QatJs nt5w the audience, 
•^ ' The kittens in a race. 

The tisees ,ar% playing how-de-do, 
Thelbirds are hailing chat. 

The san is laughing at the fun, * 
How strange that he does that. 

The, clouds avm plajdng tag-and-run, 
The flowers nod at sleep, 

God's greatness reaching far around 
For those who will but reap. 



ID 



LOVE OF NATURE A REAL PART OF LIFE. 

The Toiler: 

You lazy scamp who dreams his time away, 
'Tis labor that has value in this progressive day. 
Yet here you sit and watch the sky, Success untouched 

at hand, 
You seem a knight of leisure who owns the entire 

land. 

The Idler: 

The winding road leads onward to the blueness of 

the seas, 
The oaken leaves above me are whispering to the 

breeze. 
The fleecy clouds throw shadows on the fields of 

waving grain, 
The rainbow in the distance shows the passing of the 

rain. 
A flower of Sahara blooms and fades, then dies away, 
A child may gather flowers here and treasure them 
for aye. 



THE SPARKLING STREA3I. 

We see the stream of silver white, 

Whose waters, sparkling as they flow, 

Appear like diamonds, clear and bright. 
They madly whirl, then onward go. 



MURPHY'S DESCRIPTION OF THE 
BALL GAME. 

When Will McCuUy came to bat, 
He hit the ball an awful swat. 
And Mike McHenry followed him, 
And struck out with terrific vim. 
Then Pat Gilhoody followed that, 
By breaking Tim 'Riley's bat. 
And Tom McVey hit out a fly 
That struck Jim Duffy in the eye. 
But Will McCuUy died at first, 
'Twas said he had an awful thirst. 
And Jack and Will and Tom and Jim, 
Mike Woody and the umpire slim, 
They followed him. 



12 



NEW ENGLAND. 

The quiet day, the peaceful way, 

The pine and birch and beechen tree, 
The trailing vine the rocks entwine 
And drooping to its glorious shrine, 
Is mirrored in the sea. 



NIGHT. 

The glowing sunset dies, the crimson light has gone 

at last, 
The Western sky is darkened by a sombre cloud, 
The busy day is done, she greets her kindred of the 

past. 
And Night, the solemn Night, now spreads her starry 

shroud. 

The farmhouse lights grow red, the nighthawk greets 

the dying day. 
The stillness is oft broken by the church-bell's call, 
The air grows cool and clear, dim is the village o'er 

the way. 
And Night, the still, sad Night, is sovereign over all. 



13 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 

The favored memory view to me 
Is of a grand o-ld. apple tree. 
In blossom time jt, seemed most fair 
With snowy flakes high in the air. 

I've seen the dashing waterfall, 
The deep, dark glen of rocky wall, 
And yet there comes^ within my sight 
The apple blossoms, pink and white. 

And from a sea of darkest blue 
Come sparkling waves of emerald hue, 
And yet a sight more fair to me 
Are blossoms of an apple tree. 

The mountains raise in grand array 
Their snowy caps in stately way. 
Yet fain would I exchange the view - 
Of this old apple tree I knew. - 

The grand old tree, a childhood love. 
Was loaded white in showers akove. 
Its fragrance spreading through the air. 
It is to me the view most fair. 



AT THE BROOK. 

Man and maid by ^ grassy brook, 
Guess how many fish they hook, 
Young birds up in* the maple tree 
Never would look down to see. 
Peeking, peeking, peeking. 

Man and maid still fishing there. 
No one near to see the pair, 
A golden bee now makes a raid. 
Notes what's doing in the shade. 
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. 

Man and maid have caught no fish. 
Seems to be their slightest wish. 
Snake-feeder hastens through the day, 
Laughs at fun in a quiet way. 
Seeing, seeing, seeing. 

Graceful' maid with a smiling face. 
No one near 'thil^^-f airy pace, 
Dutchman frog now sings' his song, 
Sees what's doing, nbthiiig" wrong. 
Glooking, glooking, glooking. 



15 



FLOURISHING, THE LOST ABT. 

An idle drifting breeze are you and passing by, 
Are loved by some, yet few will try 
To pause upon the rush for gold by stopping long, 
Your gra'ces to a hurrying throng 
Unnoticed are. 



THE COMING STORM. 

The crows are calling in the tree, 
The hills are blue o 'er distant plain, 
How dark the clouds are growing now 

and see! 
Here comes the rain. 

The cows are coming o 'er the lea, 
The farm hand works in golden grain. 
How still the air is growing now 

and see! 
Here comes the rain. 



BOYHOOD DAYS, 

Oh for days that now are past, 
Boyhood joys that cannot last, 
Running, laughing every day, 
Naught to do but think of play. 

Rambling over hillsides fair, 
Seeking berries everywhere, 
Shouting, jumping, finding flowers, 
Through the bright and happy hours. 

Tumbling in the fragrant hay, 
Free from care throughout the day. 
Singing, swinging on the trees, 
Happy as the summer's breeze. 

Ragged, shoeless, freckled, tanned. 
Roaming over all the land, 
Boating, swimming, full of cheer, 
Oh that boyhood days were here. 

Now we're old and full of care. 
Wrinkles show with whitened hair, 
Yet we have the sunshine's rays. 
In our thoughts of boyhood days. 



17 



MODEST PLEASURES ESSENTIAL TO A 
NORMAL LIFE. 

A constant round of admonition, 

Of ' ' get to work ' ' and ' ' strive to do, ' ' 

**The worker wins," ''keep toiling on," 
'^ Ambition 's work is never througli." 

To me, 'tis overdone, 

A faulty dream of toil and gain, 
While modest pleasures will refresh, 

Like water on the dying grain. 

It is advice monotonous at last, 

And deals in futures of a hazy day. 

Abide with Channing's symthony and live, 
A busy but a normal way. 



FLOWERS. 

The artist's skill is at a test, 
His art must be at very best, 
To picture as sweet nature shows. 
The dainty beauties of the rose. 



MERRY CHRISTMAS. 

Ye Merry Christmas time is here, 
To all ye maids and lads so dear, 
Bring on ye holly, feast and sing, 
And let ye sombre welkin ring. 

Sing songs of love and not of hate. 
Let gayest garlands deck ye gate, 
For love and joy has gathered near, 
Ye Merry Christmas time is here. 

And light ye candles, trim ye tree. 
That old and young may merry be, 
Shout joyous carols all around. 
Let all the world enjoy the sound. 



A THORN. 

To greet the day. 
In fine array. 
To be a dandy his chief play, 
The world will say, 
Take him away. 



THE OLD FARM. 

Weary from some far shore, we come to know, 
The welcome of the home fire's cheerful glow, 
We see the well-known walls, the apples red. 
And sleep in our delightful bed. 

How good the farm, 

The dear old farm. 



THE LANDSCAPE. 

The trees are bending red with harvest yield, 

The dark blue sky portends a coming rain. 

Bright flowers dot the green of distant field, 

Past meadows yellow with the golden grain. 

White daisies gayly nod and gladly greet 

The palate for the scene, now made complete. 

ENCOURAGEMENT IN PENMANSHIP. 

Keep on out over the sea, 

Of reckless line and broken shade. 
Yet know that ships have gone before. 

And havens reached, successes made. 



YE MEBBY CHRISTMAS TIME, 

Come all ! be merry whilst you may, 
'Tis now ye glorious Christmas Day, 
Ye peaceful glow of morning sun 
Is thrown about all Christendom. 
So blithely gay now sweetly sing 
And let ye carols loudly ring. 

TEE COSTLY INK WELL 

versus 

THE CHEAP AND USEFUL ONE. 

This ink well is the finest made, 

It came from Tiffany's, I think, 

'Tis rimmed with little silver bands. 
And filled with purest, darkest ink. 

And yet when I desire to see. 

The best work I can do, 
I use this humble friend of mine, 

An old friend tried and true. 

LEISURE. 

Thief of time and beggar of respite. 
To make our burdens heavy, more than light, 
Past ministrations have no earthly cure. 
Yet will we love thee, and endure. 



IDLENESS IN HUMANITY. 

A drifting ship upon the wave, 
To idleness an abject slave, 
Content to be the one to lean, 
With no desire for man's esteem. 

Ambitionless to all about, 

The stolid mien of stupid clout, 

A derelict on seas of fate. 

And lost to words that may berate. 

The world has need of active men, 
Who wield the shovel or the pen. 
But he who will not sow nor reap 
Might just as well be fast asleep. 

Wake up and do ; it is the day 
Of doing something in your way. 
It may be small at very best. 
But do it well with heartv zest. 



22 



TEE FIRST SNOW. 

On trees that stand in weird array 
The crows are calling through the day, 
Bright Summer days are in the past, 
The first white snow is falling fast. 

Flakes light and fair 

Now fill the air. 

We see the schoolboy hasten by, 
And hear the turkey's piping cry. 
The smoke from farmhouse hovers near 
In these, the sad days of the year. 

For Winter snow 

Must come and go. 

From brown and stubble field the wren. 
Has left for Southern climes again. 
And far o'erhead the wild duck flies, 
We hear its shrill, discordant cries. 

And now at last 

Warm days are past. 

The chill wind blows a sad refrain 
That Winter cold has come again. 
The mournful pines sigh through the day 
Regretful tones in solemn way. 

Tones sad and low 

To greet the snow. 



23 



AUTUMN. 

The wind blows chill o 'er hill and dale, 

The gorgeous leaves are green and gold, 

The farmer views the harvest yield, 

Now safely stored from winter cold. 

The distant sky at close of day 

Is marked by red and purple sheen. 

The hunter now goes o 'er the wold, 

The frost is on the pumpkin seen. 

The Autumn cheer is here at last. 
The welcome days of golden gloAV, 

Her art employed to mark the world 
With all the colors of the bow. 

Along the street we often see 

The bonfire's smoke that surges near,— 
The whirling leaves which clearly show 

That Autumn is the time of year. 



AUG 30 1904 



